White Rose For a Day

Nostos Nic as "model" for a White Rose Collective seminar hosted by Barrow on March 30th, 2014.
Nostos Nic as “model” for a White Rose Collective seminar hosted by Barrow on March 30th, 2014.

Working as an archivist, I spend most of my days secluded in a windowless, cold brick building working with materials that speak volumes but rarely say a word. I love my work dearly, but when given the chance to step out of this (Hollinger) box…I jump at it. This is why I always say yes when the lovely ladies of White Rose Collective ask me to moonlight as “model” for a day.

The gorgeous brain-trust behind White Rose Collection, Andrea Donoghue and Teddi Cranford.
The gorgeous brain-trust behind White Rose Collective, Andrea Donoghue (left) and Teddi Cranford (right).

The love-child of Andrea Donoghue and Teddi Cranford, White Rose Collective is comprised of professional stylists and make up artists who bring high-fashion concepts to those of us who spend more time walking office hallways than we do runways. In addition to wedding prep, Andrea and Teddi leave their Manhattan-base to offer educational seminars hosted by salons in various U.S. cities.

Barrow Salon at 256 Sutter St.
Barrow Salon at 256 Sutter St.

After “modelling” for them last year, Andrea asked for my assistance on March 30th at Borrow Salon in San Francisco; I was only too happy to oblige. I emerged from the prior gig at Edo Salon sporting a sultry Dolce and Gabbana-inspired up-do, so I was giddy to see what the WRC team had in store for me that sunny Sunday.  I was assigned to a wonderful stylist by the name of Julio Hernandez, an Aveda master stylist who hails from Southern California and has been in the biz for over 12 years. This handsome gent was a delight, and before I knew it my hair was whipped into a soft multi-extension dream.

Nostos Nic, left, mid pin-curl courtesy of Julio Hernandez, right.
Nostos Nic, left, mid pin-curl courtesy of Julio Hernandez, right.

While my normal photographer had a scheduling conflict and couldn’t accompany me (damn you, band practice!!), the fellows at Glass Coat Photo Booth were kind enough to let me the use images you see from a booth they installed in the salon for the day. The whole day was a hoot, and I highly suggest you consider this Collective for your next event or even just to treat yo self.

Nostos Nic: After
Nostos Nic: After

Poetic Interpretation: Firehorse, “Young”


Take Aim, Noriega

If regrets were like pellets packed into a barrel,

My aim would sharpen as my heart swelled—

The tears to tear a hole in the target,

An end brought to bear from a trigger,

With the air cleared in a crash of smoke.


In truth, the shots we took solved nothing;

We were so young we couldn’t steady the sight.

So now I strain to make the music set it right,

For the hunt to find a harmony in amnesia,

And the night to bring the cool of anonymity.

A Nostos Nic Podcast

1898 Nostos Nic as Driver

A few weeks back I recorded a podcast with David Gallagher and Woody LaBounty–the good folks at the Western Neighborhoods Project (WNP). In it we speak of Camp Merritt, the Spanish American War and the west side when it was overrun with salty soldiers from the South. Click HERE to give it a listen, and don’t forget to throw the WNP some love. They deserve it.

Roberta Ilene (Carter) Clarke, Obituary Of


Roberta Ilene Clarke
Roberta Ilene Clarke

Roberta Ilene (Carter) Clarke, 86, passed away at her Temecula, California home in the early morning hours of April 3, 2013; she was surrounded by her family.

Bobbie was born to Edward Stacey and Carolyn (Valch) Carter in Fordson, Michigan on December 26, 1926. She was raised and attended schools in Detroit, and finished her academic career at Thomas M. Cooley High School. There she caught the eye of a burgeoning artist named Richard Allen Clarke, who penned her love letters until she paid him mind. The two were married in 1948, and began their family in 1952 with the birth of their one and only daughter, Janis. Three boys followed—Richard, William, and Robert—and the family found themselves in the west where the Clarkes settled into La Canada, a Southern California suburb.

The years to follow epitomized mid-century America. Family trips to national treasures, summers spent poolside with a menagerie of pets and friends, and cocktail parties for her husband’s advertising agency peers. A devoted mother, she was there for her daughter’s late-night high school sewing projects, and every one of her sons’ track-and-field matches, baseball and football games. Then this quintessentially stylish homemaker deftly transitioned into the role of working single mother in 1971. As a Travel Agent she saw the world after her offspring flew the coop. Traveling through Eastern and Western Europe, the Mediterranean and beyond, her sense of adventure came alive as she experienced the full spectrum of international offerings—no opportunity left untaken.

Her strength and patience were awe-inspiring, and she shied away from no task no matter the size. After moving to her happy home in Temecula in 1995, she forged herself a desert paradise where she landscaped her backyard with rocks carted in from blocks away in an apple red radio flyer. She taught herself to ski in her forties, and conquered the computer age in her sixties and seventies—tracing family history through genealogy websites, and forwarding her thoughts to family and friends through emails filled with helpful hints and bits of laughter culled from the Youtube universe. Ever the optimist and a romantic at heart, her retirement was spent tending her garden, which seemed always to be in full bloom; shepherding her expanding family, which grew to include seven grandchildren; and watching Hallmark movies, which spoke to her belief in happy endings.

Through all its peaks and valleys she crafted an impeccable life of simple refinement—one lived with intention, vivacity, grace and humor. The consummate perfectionist, never was there a hair out of place nor an ensemble askew; she oozed class and cultivated exceptional taste. She reveled in her role as mother and grandmother, and cherished every second spent surrounded by her progeny, the great loves of her life. Her attention to detail, her razor-sharp wit, that mischievous wink and the warmth of her smile made her a woman with no equal. The mold was truly broken when Bobbie Clarke was made, and this world’s song will never sing the same since she’s departed.

Bobbie Clarke
Bobbie Clarke

With heavy hearts she is survived by her sister, Donna Tiderington of Westland, Michigan, and all her children and grandchildren: Janis Meldahl, and her daughter, Nicole; Richard, his daughters, Jennifer and Ashley, and his wife, Diana; William, his wife, Mary, and their children, Margaux and Carter; Robert, his wife Alicja, and their children, Natalia and Allen. All of the above would like to thank the staff at Inland Valley Medical Center in Wildomar, Rancho Springs Medical Center in Murrieta, and Delta Hospice for treating Bobbie like family in her time of need.

To honor this amazing woman, a viewing will be held on April 8th from 4-8 pm at England Family Mortuary at 27135 Madison Avenue, Temecula, California, 92592. Graveside services will take place in the springtime sun at Temecula Public Cemetery—located at 41911 C Street, Temecula, California, 92592—the following day, April 9th, at 12:00 pm. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations be made to the COPD Foundation (www.copdfoundation.org).

She Keeps Bees, “Vulture”

Power is curious. Unless continually moving, like a rolling stone, its blood coagulates and forms a crust through which its captive can see but not do, feel but not find.

When Power stagnates, it feeds off the flaneurs, we the ones who are continually underfoot. Ever moving, ever changing what we are and what’s around us, Power watches us until the time is right. Then, swiftly, it descends, jaw clenched tight in anticipation. Hoping. Wanting to transmute to look like us, be like us, obliterate us in physical form.

But to no avail. Because we are the makers of meaning; we are that hallow reference on your tongue; we are the content on a continent flooded with vacancies.

We ARE what it is NOT.